


Graffiti

by ParadiseAvenger



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen, awareness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:44:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illness Awareness. "Please, don't die..." Roxas knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew he was hurting his mother, making her pretty face so tired. He knew all that. But... he had to do this anyway. He HAD to! "Please, don't die, Sora..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graffiti

Just a little uplifting story. Life seems hard right now.

X X X

Roxas Strife skittered down the alleyway like a stray cat, slinking out of sight as the police car with its flashing lights and howling sirens tore passed on the street behind him. The streetlight overhead buzzed and flickered. His pale hair caught the light like a mirror and he ducked down behind a dumpster to pull a black hat over the pale golden tresses. 

Then, he took a moment to catch his breath, digging around in his backpack for the cans of spray paint he had bought… or maybe stolen. 

He knew he had fallen in with the wrong crowd. 

He knew he kept his mother up at night—sitting at the kitchen table in her faded pink robe, drinking black coffee, and waiting. She used to be lovely with her thick rivulets of dark chocolate tresses and her beautiful dark brown eyes that were the windows to her soul. Now, he had made her face lined and stressed. Her beautiful eyes were trapped in dark circles from lack of sleep, crow’s feet reaching from the corners. 

He also knew this was a bad thing to do, but he had to do it. 

Roxas took out a can from his backpack, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and shook it. Then, he started painting on the shabby redbrick wall. It took him along time. He had to snitch a ladder from an open garage so he could reach everything. He even scrambled up the fire escape a few times, hating the horrible clanking and clattering noises it made. Finally, it was finished and he stepped back to admire his handiwork, putting a few finishing touches on some places near the bottom. 

Then, he shoved everything back into his backpack and pulled off his hat. Now, he could go home and let his mother get some much needed rest.

… 

It was still dark when Roxas came home.

The Strife family lived in a cheap rundown apartment building. They couldn’t afford a real house anymore. The wallpaper in the hallway was peeling at the corners, the paint was faded, and the ceiling was stained. The fluorescent lights in the hallways were flickering whining messes. The elevator rumbled and clanked like some kind of medieval monster so Roxas always took the stairs. He saw their door, red with peeling paint and crooked little brass numbers. He could smell the coffee brewing and see a beam of light coming under the door.

Somewhere in the building, a baby was crying.

…

Clara Strife was sitting up at the kitchen table in her faded pink robe with a cold cup of black coffee in front of her. She was exhausted, haggard, feeling as if the chair was the only thing holding her up. She glanced at her watch again, a cheap plastic digital thing. She used to have a pretty gold watch with little diamonds on the hands, but she had been forced to sell it. It was almost six o’clock in the morning. She had been up all night and Roxas had been out on the street all night… again.

Then, she heard the key in the lock. She used to stand up to greet Roxas when he finally came home, but lately he barely spared her a passing glance so she just remained seated. Sure enough, the door swung open and Roxas stepped in. He had spray paint on his hands. 

She lowered her eyes and shook her head sadly. She was almost ashamed of her son, if she could even call him her son anymore. 

Roxas set down his backpack on one of the kitchen chairs, glanced at his painted hands, and went to watch them in the sink. When he was clean, he surprisingly picked up a vase of pretty daisies from the kitchen table, cradled them against his chest, and left the kitchen. 

Clara heard him opening the door he never opened anymore. Immediately, she bolted to her feet and raced down the hallway after him, pausing in the threshold of the door to just watch Roxas and take in his brother’s declining state.

Roxas had set the daisies on the nightstand beside Sora’s bed. 

There were a lot of flowers and pictures in the room, overwhelming it with color and life as if to make up for the sick blanched figure lying beneath the blankets. The medical equipment was humming and whining, proclaiming the weak heartbeat inside Sora’s ribcage. The ventilator was pumping oxygen into his starving collapsing lungs. The IV was dripping slowly, like a leaky faucet in the background. Worse than that was beautiful Sora’s chalky pale face and his chapped bloody lips. He was gaunt, skin stretched over his bones like canvas over a board, and his dark chocolate hair looked black against his white flesh. His body was heartbreakingly thin, nothing but sinew and bone as his body wasted away. The cancer was eating him from the inside out.

Roxas went to the window and pulled back the curtains. Then, he sat in the chair his mother usually occupied at Sora’s bedside, gently holding his brother’s hand in his own, fearing the cold that was seeping from Sora’s body.

It was like he was already dead. 

Roxas gently rubbed the hand in his own and, slowly, Sora’s blue eyes cracked open. The beautiful sky-colored orbs took in Roxas and then his mouth curved into a small strained smile. He carefully pushed himself into a sitting position, arms trembling, too weak to support himself, and looked out the window at what Roxas had done for him. 

Clara stepped up on the other side of the bed, standing beside the IV. Her tired brown eyes welled with tears and she looked at Roxas. “Thank you,” she mouthed to him and pressed her fingers to her wounded-looking mouth. “Thank you…”

Roxas smiled and gently cradled his brother’s wasted body in his arms so he could see better.

Outside, spray painted on the face of the building next to them in all colors—red, green, gold, blue, even pink—was the most beautiful mural in the world. It was all birds and flowers and wisps of colored wind around the two most powerful words: Be Brave! The entire building came alive with Roxas’s beautiful graffiti, his beautiful destruction, right outside the window so that Sora could see it every day.

He smiled and hugged his twin gently. Sora embraced him, weak but now warm.

Sometimes, it takes more than medication.

X X X

The idea for this story came from a commercial one of my friends sent to me. Here’s the link for the Graffiti - Pfizer Commercial if anyone wants to check it out: http:// www. youtube. com/watch?v=K6fSETphe4A

Drop a review and let me know what you think! Are the characters way out of character? Does everybody hate, um, anything? Think I torture Sora way too much (but it's because he's so easy to be mean to, though I always make sure to give everybody a happy ending!)? Are permanently disgusted and can no longer even play Kingdom Hearts thanks to me? Loved it? Hated it? (Flames will be used to roast marshmallows and weenies!) Think I need to do more editing before I post chapters? Post to slow? Chapters are too short? Too long? Yada, yada, yada…

I own nothing except the words.

Please, check out my first ORIGINAL NOVEL! The Breaking of Poisonwood by Paradise Avenger. (Summary: People were dead. When Skye Davis bought me at a slave auction as a birthday present for his brother, I had no idea what my new life was going to be like, but I had never expected this. It all started when Venus de Luna was killed and I was to take her place, to become the new savior… Then, bad things happened and some people died. In the heart of the earth, we discovered the ancient being that Frank Davis had found and created and used to his advantage. The Poisonwood—)

Questions, comments, concerns?


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